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by illfit



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (they both do really), Established Relationship, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Wade Has Issues, it's an emotional night, peter slaps sense into wade, wade cries manly tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illfit/pseuds/illfit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter bites Wade's dick off.</p>
<p>No, literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> **please be careful with reading this!** this starts immediately off with the rape scene. some may not consider it necessarily rape, but I'm tagging it anyway, just to be safe.
> 
> aside from that, enjoy :)

* * *

Honestly, neither of them expected it. If anything, Peter even less so. Maybe it's because they do this a lot. Not the dick biting part, no, but most of their fights - and they fight a  _lot_ \- end in make-up sex, which is where they both knew this was heading. 

Well, okay, maybe not. Peter's mind is still on the argument, rage still boiling his blood and insults on the tip of his tongue, when Wade backs him up to the wall, something more than just anger in his eyes. When Peter's pushed down to his knees, he naturally resists. And he usually does - that's how it goes between them; Wade dominates, Peter resists, and then gives up. So really, when there's a dick suddenly forcing itself into Peter's mouth, he can't 100% blame Wade for the simple misunderstanding. Peter plants his hands on Wade's hips and pushes, hoping Wade will get the hint. Wade stumbles back, barely retaining his balance. Peter stands just as Wade says, "You want it rough? I can do that."

It's when he's pushed down again that Peter decides that if he doesn't do something, Wade's just going to keep forcing himself on him. Their "angry sex" has gotten pretty out of control at times, sure, things have been broken and they once stopped halfway through to continue arguing, but Wade would sooner give up food before raping someone. They both know that, but thinking back on it, Peter can recall a few times when things have gone just a little too close to that line, and realizes they need a serious conversation to set up some boundaries when this is all over.

The hero opens his mouth to speak, only to have it filled again. They do this twice over, Peter pushing Wade off and Wade just coming back for more, until Peter relents, knowing Wade will just keep coming back. Wade has a one-track mind on good days, and with his body overflowing with anger-fueled lust, the only thing going through it right now is  _SEX SEX SEX,_ like a blaring siren. Peter can't get a single word out for Wade to hear, and with no other way to stop this in mind, Peter gives a brief thought to his boyfriend's healing factor and bites down.

Thinking back on it, though, Peter probably could've come up with a better way.

Wade's shout comes almost immediately. Peter spits and runs to the sink to rinse out his mouth, a foul taste filling his senses far too quickly. He didn't know Wade could even bleed - Peter tries to keep in mind that it might not even be _blood_ he's tasting, but he's too busy watching Wade approach from the corner of his eye to look down at the sink and just what exactly is coming out of his mouth. 

"What the fuck, Peter?" Wade shouts, but he seems unsure whether to be more angry or surprised.

"Get out of my apartment," Peter hisses after spitting out a mouthful of dirty water. He shuts off the faucet and grabs a hand towel from a drawer to try to rub the revolting taste off his tongue.

"You just bit my goddamn dick off, I'm not going anywhere." Peter spins, pushing a hand against the merc's chest, catching him slightly off-guard and making him step back.

"If you don't leave right _now_ , that won't be the only thing you're missing," Peter threatens, and even though Wade has a few good inches on him, the look in Peter's eyes is enough to get Wade to stubbornly back down and disappear into their bedroom. As metal clinking echoes in the house, Peter returns to trying to clean his mouth. He runs to the bathroom to get some mouthwash and gargles for half a minute straight, spits, and goes again and again until his mouth burns with the alcohol. Wade appears in the mirror behind the hero, fully clothed in his Deadpool costume. Peter feels a twang of quilt in his gut that Wade has to leave, but it is _his_  apartment, and Wade  _did_ just touch the line of rape.

"I'll call you tomorrow, and then we'll talk, okay?" Peter offers, staring right back at the mask in the mirror. When he blinks, it's gone.

 

* * *

 

Peter calls the next day, and it goes straight to voicemail. He sends a text at lunch and before he goes to bed, but neither are responded to, and he goes to bed feeling even guiltier than the day before.

 

* * *

 

There's no sign of Wade the on Wednesday either, and the four calls he makes throughout the day go to voicemail yet again.

 

* * *

 

Again, the day after that is still silent. Peter calls, leaves a message, sends a goodnight text, and then wonders why he isn't concerned. He eats a six-dollar pint of caramel gelato to suppress the feeling.

 

* * *

 

Friday, Peter wakes up with a hopeful, good feeling that progressively disappears throughout the day. Every minute that passes without a sign of his boyfriend, his mood worsens. Concern finally sets in, because if Wade isn't home after a few days, he's usually home after a few  _months_ , and Peter doesn't think that's a very good thing when their last way of communication ended with a severed penis on the living room floor. He types a text saying, "i love you, please come home," but hesitates on pressing send. After taking out "i love you," he sends it.

 

* * *

 

Saturday and Sunday pass similarly, a call on each day with, unsurprisingly, no answer.

 

* * *

 

Monday morning, Peter wakes feeling like  _shit_. He has a sore throat, dry nose, and splitting headache - all the signs of a sinus infection. When the ibuprofen hasn't helped anything by the time he has to go to work, he calls in and uses one of his sick days. He should probably go see a doctor because he's been getting sinus infections pretty frequently for a while now (even Wade has attempted to make him go), but his head hurts too much when he thinks about making an appointment, and he takes it as the universe telling him not to go. He doesn't even think about calling or texting Wade, telling himself that the reason is because he's sick, but he knows it's because Wade always babysits him whenever he gets sinus infections, and the mechanical voice saying  _'Leave a message after the beep_ _.'_ is just going to make him feel worse.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday finds Peter... homesick? As he lies in bed, trying to wake up, he can't shake the feeling of sadness that washes over him. He knows it's because Wade is gone - okay, maybe not  _gone_ , but he's... not here - but he doesn't want to be  _that_ kind of boyfriend, so he tells himself to buck up. He lived a good eighteen years without Wade, and even though he has no recollection of four of those, he can make it another eighteen years without him if need be. Well, maybe eighteen weeks.

Okay, fine. If Wade doesn't appear in eighteen minutes in his living room, Peter's going to flip shit.

Except maybe Peter falls asleep before that eighteen minutes up. And if he falls asleep clutching Wade's pillow, well, that isn't anyone's business.

 

* * *

Wednesday, Peter answers a call without looking at the caller ID and instantly regrets it. Wade's voice is on the other end, faint, dry, and... slurred? He mutes the TV and stands to make a mug of tea, thinking the process will calm him.

"Heyy, Petey! How's it goin'?"

"Uh, fine." Peter fishes his favorite mug out of the cupboard, along with a bag of Earl Grey. "Where have you been?" He leans against the counter island and watches his mug spin around in the microwave.

"Ah, nowhere really. You tol' me you'd call t'day and you never did, so I thought 'hey! Let's - _Oh shit man, thanks. -_ call Petey up! See how he's doin'!"

"That was last week. Who was-" there's mumbled cursing on the other line that cuts him off, and then the distinct sound of gunshots in a closed room. " _Wade_ , where are you? Why don't you come home?"

He's silent for a moment, then mutters, "You told - _M_ _y turn? Thank fucking god. -_ you tol' me you wanted me out. So I took my-" he burps, "-my shit and left." Peter can faintly hear something similar to Wade taking a drink.

"Are you  _drunk_ _?_  "

"Well-" he burps again, but it ends in more of a hiccup, "-some things are just -  _Y_ _es, dude, thanks. -_ just... just... what was I talkin' 'bout?"

"Come home, Wade." Peter says as the microwave beeps, signalling the water is hot. He dumps the thin paper packet of Earl Grey in the mug and moves it around with a spoon.

"'Ey, las' time I was there, ya bit my dick off. Tha' hurt, y'know!"

Frustration steadily builds in the hero's chest as he tries to remain calm. "You were on your way to  _raping_ me." Peter has a death grip on his mug as he lifts it to his lips. It makes a small cracking noise in protest, but no tea spills out so Peter ignores it.

The other line is silent for a long while after that. " _Yeah, m'fine_." Peter hears. A full minute later, Wade takes a breath like he's going to say something, but ends up just holding it. After a bout of faint cursing in a language Peter can't identify, Wade hangs up. Peter just barely refrains form calling Wade back and telling him to not even  _bother_ coming home. 

 

* * *

 

Another three weeks pass. Peter calls Wade every other day, and every other day he gets voicemail. Roughly after a month of no Wade, a girl picks up with a bright giggle, and Peter hangs up before he can ruin anything. He half contemplates tracking his boyfriend down (if he can even call Wade that anymore), but if Wade's cheating on him now, he says good riddance. The hero leaves one last text saying 'come home' and goes to bed.

 

* * *

 

Peter tries not to think about Wade, and he honestly thinks he's doing a pretty good job at it. He doesn't call or send any texts, much less even look at his phone unless someone else has initiated the conversation. Sure, he's gotten a few - okay, maybe a little more than a  _few_ \- comments about his sudden hermit-like behavior, but it's not like it really impedes on anything. He still does quality work, still is cheery and kind, and he still does a kick-ass job at saving Manhattan whenever need be.

It works, for a time that is - two months exactly - until Peter's phone rattles on his nightstand with a text, waking him up and echoing throughout the empty apartment. He lazily unlocks his phone, wincing at the brightness of it. It ends up being a picture, of all things, from Wade, of all people. It's the Eiffel Tower, shrouded in mist, painted with soft, early morning colors. The picture is slightly blurry, and Peter guesses it's because of water droplets on the phone. He smiles faintly at it as feelings of both hope and dread settle in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

It's yet another week until Peter hears form his boyfriend, and at first he doesn't even know it's him. Again, it wakes Peter up. Again, it's the middle of the night.

He hears the window creaking open in the living room and silently gets out of bed, alert and ready to fight. He enters the room... and sees nothing. The window is closed, curtains drawn, no lights are on, and he's the only one in the apartment. He does three sweeps and checks the fire escape before going back to bed.

In the morning, he's on his way to make sure the window is locked before he heads to work, when he sees the envelope on the sill. A postcard falls out when he cuts it open, as well as a small piece of metal. On the postcard, there are big letters that say,  _'Greetings From France!'_ on top of a picture of the Arch de Triomphe. There's no signature, no evidence of who it could be from, but Peter knows it's from Wade. Who else could sneak into his apartment at night without him finding them?

Well, considering the amount of super-people in the general New York area, that might be a bad assumption. So don't answer that.

The tiny piece of metal ends up being a miniature Eiffel Tower, which Peter sets on the bookshelf in the living room, with all the other knickknacks they've collected.

 

* * *

 

If Peter had known that Wade would actually be in the apartment a few days later, he would've taken the entire week off from work. Then, maybe, he wouldn't be scared absolutely shitless when he spots a shilouhetted figure crawling through his window as he comes home from work one night.

Naturally, he attacks. He jumps on the figure's back, wrapping his arms around their neck and pulling back. A clothed hand pries at Peter's hands, the other reaching for the wall to stabilize them. The intruder makes a strangled noise as they finally get a grip on Peter's wrist, pulling him over their shoulder and forcing him to land heavily on his back. All of his breath rushes out of Peter's lungs in an instant, and he clutches at his chest, as though it'll help him catch his breath any quicker.

"Now, is that any way to greet your very lovely boyfriend who brings exquisite French wine?" Peter almost says _'_ _yes, that's exactly what I should do,'_ but instead pushes Wade back from where he looms over him. It's maybe a little too forcefully, but Peter can't find it in him to care all that much. He stands, still evening out his breathing to normal again, and watches as Wade goes and dumps his duffel on the couch - and yup, there's a distinct cling of glass bottles as it happens. Peter isn't surprised.

"So, Petey, how's it been?" Peter's minutely glad that Wade doesn't use any affectionate terms, like his usual  _sweetie_ or  _honey_ , or even  _baby boy_. Again, Peter doesn't respond - Wade knows _exactly_ how it's been - only watching Wade sift through his stuff, setting the bottles beside his bag. His mouth opens and closes more than once as he struggles for conversation, finally saying, "Y'know that whole saying about an elephant in the room? It feels kinda like we're  _in_ the elephant instead." Wade laughs uncertainly at himself, and if the situation weren't so serious, Peter might've had the balls to laugh at the fact that  _Deadpool_ is  _uncertain_. "Or maybe the elephant just came barreling through and used the complex as a bed and now everything is trashed. The couch is all flipped," he points to where it would be, up against the far wall, "and the-"

"Wade," Peter starts, but can't bring himself to say any more.

Wade stills instantly, seemingly frozen, but attempts to play it off. "Yeah, Petey?" He asks, voice still cheery, but Peter can tell even from the way the merc stands that he doesn't want to do this. Not now, not ever.

"We need to talk about it."

"About what?"

"Gee, I've got not clue!" Peter mutters sarcastically. "Maybe the reason you were gone for three months?"

Wade busies himself by taking off his weapons, dumping them on top of his bag as he goes. When he runs out, he falls onto the couch with a sigh, staring into space as he tries to find a way to respond. He thinks belatedly about the 'elephant,' and he thinks he understands where Wade was coming from. He can see how the furniture would be destroyed, their two little armchairs scattered to the side of the couch, TV shattered. The bookshelf of knickknacks would be gone.

"I'm sorry," Wade says quietly, interrupting his thoughts. Peter wants to say  _I know_ because he does, but Wade, even with his mask on, looks like he still has things to say, so the hero stays silent. "That night," Wade continues, "I knew what I did and I was so ashamed 'cause rape was the only thing I promised myself I'd never do, and then I felt like shit so I never picked up the phone or called you back like the stupid sonuvabitch I am. And then those dudes had smuggled wine or something from Russia - at least I think Russia - saying it was pretty strong and I knew you didn't want me back so I stayed gone. I took some jobs, here's the money by the way." He pulls out a wad of cash and holds it out, still not looking at Peter.

"I don't care about your money." Peter tells him, slightly miffed that he didn't bring up the giggling girl, but he decides to give Wade the benefit of the doubt and think it was part of the job. He crosses his arms and leans against one of the armchairs. The merc drops the cash with a sigh, tossing it back on his bag and folding his hands in his lap, trying to look relaxed but desperately failing. They stay like that for a while, until the silence starts to ring in Peter's ears and he asks, "Why didn't you come back?" He steps forward, slowly making his way over to Wade, who visibly tenses.

"Gah, Petey, you just really want a heart-to-heart, dontcha?"

Peter snorts. "You could say that."

"I already told you."

"I know you hating yourself isn't the only reason."

"You severely understimate my self-hatred."

"Tell me, then." Peter reaches out, brushing his fingers against the side of Wade's face. He's still got his Deadpool mask on, but he flinches minutely, looking down and away from Peter. "Explain why you hate yourself so I can help you understand that you're not." The hero slips his fingers under the bottom of the mask, tugging it up and off. Wade allows it, but still refuses to look at Peter, instead directing his attention to his lap.

"I already have."

"No, you haven't. You never talk about yourself."

"And why should I? So you can just... throw me away like everyone else does?" He abruptly stands, pushing Peter back in the process. He gathers up his stuff, saying, "Listen, Petey, I like what we've got going on here. The food is good, the sex is better, and even with the fights, it's better than anything I've had before and I'd like to keep it that way. So tone down the emotional talks and we won't have any issues." He starts off towards the bedroom, but the hero follows right behind.

"We _already do_ have an issue, Wade! Why won't you talk to me about it?"

Wade stops short, and Peter almost walks into his back. He turns on his heel, and yet again they're chest to chest, just barely an inch keeping them from tearing at each other's throats. "This is why!" Wade hisses, looking him, finally, dead in the eye. "Any time we talk, it ends like this! I'm tired of fighting with you Peter." And then the merc is moving again, grabbing what Peter identifies as the last of his things.

"So you're just going to give up? Relationships are always a work in progress, Wade, you're not going to find anything better than this." When Wade doesn't stop, Peter goes on, "Why is it that it seems like I'm the only one ever trying?" Wade slows, almost to the point of stopping. He knows the answer to the question. Peter does, too. They both do. It's really just a matter of who says it first.

"You know the answer to that." Wade whispers.

"Then tell me. It's not like I'll be shocked or surprised. You can't scare me off, no matter what you do."

The merc stops, bowing his head slightly and absentmindedly twisting a pair of socks in his hands. "Because it's not like I deserve this."

"Why not?" Peter takes a few steps toward Wade again, stopping when he's just a foot away.

"It's just gonna go crashing to hell someday, just like everything else in my life, and I'd like to no have so many good memories continuously reminding me of how much of a piece of shit I am."

"Wouldn't you want to keep those memories, though? To remember?"

"I've lost you before, baby boy, and even though it ain't been forever, it's made me realize that I don't _ever_ want to." Wade sets the pair of socks down, but keeps his hand on the top of the dresser for support.

"... You're scared," Peter realizes, and suddenly feels like a total  _ass_. Sure he's guessed that Wade has been apprehensive or cautious, but he never knew that it went any deeper than that. Peter lays a hand on Wade's shoulder, making him turn. "Wade, I'm so sorry - I didn't-"

"No, you didn't, but it's fine," The merc attempts to give a reassuring smile, but fails, "we're good."

"It's not though-"

"Petey, it's okay. I forgive you. It's not like I did much to show it or anything."

"Stop cutting me off." Peter gives Wade a look, who avoids Peter's gaze. "So maybe you do forgive me but-"

"It's not maybe-" Peter flicks his shoulder.

" _But_ we've both messed things up - and I'm looking at myself more than you, so don't you dare think you're all at fault - but were fixing this, aren't we? If we're gonna keep doing this whole dating thing, we need to talk, and because you suck ass at talking, I'll do it." Wade rubs the back of his neck as the hero continues, "We're in this together. And by together, I mean through and through - everything. It's fine if you aren't ready for certain things, I might not be either, but tell me if you aren't. Tell me if you  _are_ ready. Tell me if you need something. Tell me if you want me to back off. I haven't left you so far, and I never will, I promise."

"You're gonna make me cry, spidey." Wade mutters jokingly.

"Go ahead, I'm here for that." And for once, Wade doesn't berate himself and how he himself  _hasn't_ been there and how he's always made Peter put in the effort. For once, he lets himself be held instead. He doesn't cry, but if a few tears slip out, Peter doesn't need to know - not now anyway.

"It's about dinner time," Peter whispers after a long while, and Wade lifts his head from Peter's shoulder, immediately perking up at both the conversation change and chance for food. "You want me to order tacos while you put your stuff away?"

"Are we done with the chick-flick moment?"

"Yes."

" _Fuck_ yes!" Wade removes himself from Peter's arms, his heart doing a slight skip at the look of fondness on Peter's face. He immdeiately starts stuffing his clothes back in the dresser. Peter laughs and moves back to the living room to grab his phone.

"Make sure to get the special sauce!" Wade calls as Peter dials their usual place.

"The mild one or the spicy one?"

"The one that made you puke last time!" Peter both cringes and smiles at the same time, placing the order when someone picks up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i kinda suck at endings, so this was sorta abrupt, sorry :c
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
